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ANTirONH 

AN    ACCOUNT    OF 

THE    PRESENTATION    OF    THE 

ANTIGONE   OF  SOPHOCLES 


LELAND    STANFORD   JUNIOR    UNIVERSITY 

APRIL    SEVENTEENTH    AND    NINETEENTH 
NINETEEN    HUNDRED    AND    TWO 


PAUL  ELDER  AND  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS,  SAN  FRANCISCO 
1903 


]   [ 


][ 


]    C 


Copyright,  190} 
by  Paul  Elder  an-u  Company 


The  Tomoyf  Preu 
^an   Francisco 


STACK 
ANNEX 

PA 


WE    DEDICATE    THIS    VOLCME    TO    THE 
MEMORY    OF 

LIXDA    DOVVS    COOKSEY 

WHOSE    SYMPATHY    AND 

HELP    LIGHTENED    CONSTANTLY    THE    TASK    OF    THOSE 

WHO    TOILED    OVER    THE    ANTIGONE. 


CONTENTS 

The  Antigone  at  Stanford  University,  by  H.  VV.  Rolfe         -        -  i 

Antigone :  A  Dramatic  Study,  by  A.  T.  Murray         -        -        .  4 

The  Choral  Side  of  Antigone,  by  H.  Rushton-  Fairclough        -  22 

Programme  of  the  Original  Presentations  at  Stanford  University  67 


THE   ANTIGONE 
AT    STANFORD    UNIVERSITY. 

THIS  little  volume  is  to  commemorate  the  presentation, 
at  Stanford  University,  in  April,  1902,  of  the  Antigone 
of  Sophocles,  in  the  original  Greek,  with  Mendelssohn's 
choral  music. 

This  enterprise  was  taken  in  hand  in  December  of  1901. 
Four  months  were  given  to  preparation  for  it.  The  roles  were 
assumed  by  members  of  the  Greek  dejDartment,  students  and 
instructors.  The  chorus  was  drawn,  largely,  from  the  university 
Glee  Club.  The  university  orchestra  prepared  the  instrumental 
music.  Cast,  chorus,  and  orchestra  were  self-trained,  except  for 
help  in  stage-grouping  from  a  teacher  of  dramatic  art,  Mr.  Leo 
Cooper,  of  San  Francisco,  and  the  general  musical  oversight 
exercised  by  Mr.  A.  L.  Scott  Brook,  the  organist  of  the  memorial 
church.     The  costumes  were  made  on  the  ground. 

A  translation  of  the  Antigone  was  prepared  and  published, 
for  purposes  of  preliminary  study  and  for  use  at  the  perform- 
ances. Lectures  were  given,  before  the  university,  interpretative 
of  the  dramatic  action,  the  function  of  the  chorus,  the  music. 
The  play  was  read  by  many  in  the  Greek.  The  entire  university, 
from  the  first,  took  the  deepest  interest  in  the  matter,  as  did 
groups  of  persons  in  San  Francisco,  Berkeley,  and  San  Jose. 

The  initial  performances  were  given  in  the  Assembly  Hall, 
on  the  evening  of  Thursday,  April  17th,  and  the  morning  of 
Saturday,  April  19th.  They  were  successful,  so  much  so  that  it 
was  decided  to  take  the  play  to  Southern  California.  This  involved 
further  interruption  of  university  work,  but  it  seemed  certain  that 
there  would  be  gain  to  balance  that  loss.     The  aim  in  preparing 


2  ANTIGONE 

the  play  had  been,  from  the  outset,  to  strengthen  the  cause  of 
Cireek  studies  on  the  Pacific  Coast.  So  excellent  a  result  in  that 
direction  had  been  achieved  here  in  Central  California  that  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  the  response  in  the  cities  of  the  South.  The 
university,  therefore,  granted  a  week's  leave  of  absence. 

The  play  was  given  in  Los  Angeles,  on  April  23d;  in  Pasa- 
dena, on  April  24th;  and  in  Santa  Barbara,  on  April  25th.  The 
expenses  of  the  trip,  above  receipts,  were  met  from  the  surplus  of 
the  Stanford  performances. 

During  the  week  of  absence  the  directors  of  the  play  received 
a  cordial  invitation  from  the  University  of  California  to  give  a  final 
performance  at  Berkeley,  in  the  Harmon  Gymnasium,  on  May 
loth.  It  was  accepted.  Meanwhile  there  was  a  third  presentation 
at  Stanford,  on  May  8th.  President  Wheeler  placed  the  matter  at 
Berkeley  in  the  hands  of  an  efficient  committee,  who  made  all 
arrangements  and  assembled  a  large  and  generous  audience. 
This  last  representation  was  the  best  of  the  series  of  seven,  and 
the  most  gratifying. 

The  impression  made  by  the  play  upon  the  audience  seemed 
to  be  the  same  at  every  performance.  The  interest  was  intense, 
he  emotion  deep.  No  one's  attention  wandered.  Every  one 
was  too  much  moved  for  frequent  applause.  All,  even  to  the 
childrer.  present,  were  absorbed  by  the  beauty  of  the  costumes  and 
stage-pictures  and  acting  and  music  and  choral  evolutions.  At 
the  end,  as  the  chorus  marched  from  sight,  the  audience  rose 
and  left  the  place,  it  seemed,  with  much  the  feeling  with  which 
the  Greeks  must  have  ri.sen  on  the  slopes  of  the  Acropolis,  lifting 
their  eyes  to  the  familiar  landscape  once  more,  from  the  spot 
where,  during  the  morning  hours,  they  had  seen  only  Antigone 
and  Creon  and  the  woes  of  the  house  of  Labdacus. 

The  final  outcome  of  the  play  has  been  a  remarkable  inten- 
sification, throughout  the  university  and  in  many  preparatory 
schools  and  high  schools,   of   respect  for  classical  studies  and 


ANTIGONE  3 

interest  in  them.  Through  these  performances  many  came  to  see, 
for  the  first  time,  the  truth  of  Thoreau's  fine  words:  "Two 
thousar.d  summers  have  imparted  to  the  monuments  of  Grecian 
literature,  as  to  licr  marbles,  only  a  maturer  golden  and  autumnal 
tint,  for  they  have  carried  their  own  serene  and  celestial  atmos- 
phere into  all  lands,  to  protect  them  against  the  coirosion  of 
time,  works  as  refined,  as  soHdly  done,  and  as  beautiful  almost, 
as  the  morning  itself;  for  later  writers,  say  what  we  will  of  their 
genius,  have  rarely,  if  ever,  equaled  the  elaborate  beauty  and 
finish,  and  the  lifelong  and  heroic  literary  labors,  of  the  aiiri-nts." 

H.  W.  ROLFE. 


ANTIGONE: 
A  DRAMATIC  STUDY. 

THE  Antigone  of  Sophocles,  one  of  a  half-dozen  extant 
Greek  tragedies  which  deal  with  the  fortunes  of  the 
royal  house  of  Thebes,  was  produced  in  442  or  440 
B.  c.  A  bare  statement  of  the  story,  in  so  far  as  it 
precedes  the  action  of  the  play,  is  as  follows : 

CEdipus,  son  of  Laius,  King  of  Thebes,  and  of  his  wife 
Jocasto,  had  all  imwittingly  fulfilled  the  awful  doom  which  the 
oracle  had  declared  should  be  his :  he  had  slain  his  own  father 
and  become  the  husband  of  his  own  mother.  When  the  horrible 
relationship  became  known  Jocasta  hanged  herself,  and  (Edipus, 
snatching  the  brooch  with  which  her  robe  was  fastened,  dashed 
out  his  own  eyes  in  horror. 

From  this  union  had  sprung  two  sons,  Polynices  and 
Eteocles,  and  two  daughters,  Antigone  and  Ismene.  CEdipus  — 
of  whose  end  varying  tales  are  told  —  had  cursed  his  sons,  that 
they  should  divide  his  inheritance  with  the  sword.  They  resolved 
to  rule  alternately,  and  Polynices,  the  elder  (for  so  Sophocles 
conceives  him),  after  reigning  a  year,  yielded  the  throne  to  his 
brother.  When,  however,  the  second  year  had  elapsed,  Eteocles 
refused  to  give  place,  and  Polynices,  in  wrath,  withdrew  to 
Argos,  where  he  allied  himself  to  the  royal  house,  and,  in  league 
with  si.x  other  chieftains,  led  an  army  against  his  native  land  —  to 
win  by  force  the  throne  that  was  his  due. 

The  attack  failed,  the  Argive  host  fled  in  rout,  and  the  two 
doomed  brothers  fell — each  slain  by  the  other's  spear. 

It  is  at  this  point  that  the  Antigone  opens.  The  kingship 
has  devolved  upon  Creon,  the  brother  of  Jocasta,  and  hence  the 

4 


ANTIGONE  7 

uncle  of  Antigone  and  Ismene.  He  has  put  forth  an  edict  that 
Eteocles  shall  be  buried  with  all  honor,  but  that  the  corpse  of 
Polynices  shall  be  left  unburied,  for  dogs  and  birds  to  rend.  It 
must  be  remembered  that  this,  to  the  Greek,  was  the  most 
dreadful  fate  that  could  befall  a  man,  for  on  the  burial  of  the 
corpse  depended  the  welfare  of  the  spirit  in  the  world  below.  It 
was  therefore  a  sacred  duty  to  perform  due  rites  over  the  dead  — 
if  it  were  only  the  symbolic  sprinkling  of  a  few  handfuls  of 
dust  —  and  this  duty  rested  with  especial  weight  upon  the  ne.xt 
of  kin. 

Hence  it  is  easy  for  us  to  understand,  in  measure  at  least, 
the  position  in  which  Antigone  was  placed,  and  the  poet,  with 
great  art,  has  at  once  emphasized  that  position  and  shown  how 
impossible  it  would  have  been  for  the  high-minded  girl,  filled 
with  loyalty  to  the  dead  brother,  traitor  though  he  was,  to  have 
chosen  any  other  course.  For  the  characterization  of  the  person- 
ages in  the  play  is  wholly  admirable.  With  the  concentration, 
the  restraint  of  antique  art,  they  are  not  analyzed  with  the 
subtlety  which  so  engrosses  us  often  on  the  modern  stage  ;  the 
soul  is  not  laid  bare  before  us  ;  but  the  overpowering  emotion  or 
resolve  is  thought  of  as  already  possessing  the  heart,  so  that  we 
see  it  in  act,  moving  resistless  to  its  inevitable  end.  So  the 
proud  girl,  nobly  loyal  to  the  sacred  duty  that  is  laid  upon  her, 
recks  not  of  the  consequences  to  herself  and  can  be  coldly  defiant 
toward  Creon,  for  whose  short-sighted  maxims  of  government 
and  civic  duty  —  essentially  sound  though  they  are  —  she  has  but 
contempt;  while,  in  her  exalted  mood,  to  do  and  to  die  is  a  priv- 
ilege. An  Antigone,  wavering  between  a  sense  of  duty  to  the 
dead  and  the  fear  of  the  consequences  of  disobeying  the  king's 
edict,  would  be  a  figure  wholly  alien  to  the  spirit  of  Sophoclean  art. 

Beside  Antigone  stands  her  sister,  Ismene,  a  character  often 
misunderstood.  She  is  gentle,  loving,  and  lovable,  but  not  cast 
in  the  heroic  mould.     She  recognizes  the  duty  that  rests  upon 


8  ANTIGONE 

her,  as  upon  her  sister,  but,  under  the  circumstances,  it  cannot  be 
fulfilled ;  the  State  has  forbidden  the  act,  and  defy  the  State  she 
cannot.  She  will  pray  the  dead  to  pardon  her,  and  live  as  she 
may — in  subjection  to  those  stronger  than  she.  She  begs  her 
sister  to  recall  the  horrible  past  of  their  family  —  patricide  and 
incest,  though  unwitting,  a  miserable  end  for  both  parents,  and 
now  again  the  death  in  mutual  combat  of  their  two  brothers. 
Shall  they  defy  authority  and  perish  most  basely  of  all  ?  Nay, 
they  are  powerless;  the  dead  will  forgive. 

Here  two  points — subtle  enough,  perhaps,  to  be  overlooked 
by  the  casual  reader  —  suggest  theinselves.  To  Ismene,  Creon 
represents  the  State,  and  so  it  is  their  bounden  duty  to  obey;  to 
Antigone  his  edict  is  the  expression  of  the  will  of  one  who, 
through  circumstances,  has  come  to  stand  at  the  head  of  the  State, 
but  who  is,  after  all,  a  tyrant  —  in  the  Greek  sense:  one,  that  is, 
who  arrogates  all  power  to  himself  and  rules  justly  or  unjustly, 
with  mildness  or  severity,  as  he  will.  He  may  be  resisted  even 
by  the  good  citizen;  and  she  says  to  his  face  that  the  jDeople  of 
Thebes  side  with  her.  In  this  view,  it  is  to  be  remembered,  the 
poet  himself  and  the  thousands  who  thronged  the  theatre  on  that 
spring  day  so  long  ago,  would  join. 

The  second  point  is  that  this  difference  in  nature,  in  temper- 
ament, this  radically  different  point  of  view,  ser\'es  to  isolate 
Antigone  from  the  only  person  in  the  play  to  whom  she  could 
look  for  sympathy.  There  is  no  chorus  of  women  upon  whom 
she  could  lean  :  the  chorus  is  made  up  of  Theban  elders,  cold  and 
politic  in  their  submission  to  Creon  ;  and  Greek  feeling  pre- 
cluded the  introduction  of  scenes  which  would  have  brought  into 
prominence  her  relation  to  her  betrothed,  Hcemon,  Creon' s  son. 
In  this  situation,  repelled  by  the  very  sister  who  should  have  acted 
with  her,  small  wonder  if  the  tension  she  is  under  makes  her 
harsh  —  cruelly  harsh,  we  feel.  Yet  all  the  more  effective  are  the 
moments  when  love  for  that  sister  finds  expression. 


ANTIGONE  13 

In  a  great  scene  in  which  Antigone,  caught  in  the  act  of 
pouring  libations  over  the  dead,  is  brought  before  the  angry  king, 
she  calmly  acknowledges  her  guilt —  if  guilt  it  be — and  appeals  to 
the  eternal  and  unwritten  statutes  of  heaven,  in  the  face  of  which 
his  edict  sinks  into  insignificance.  Here  is,  in  a  sense,  the  prob- 
lem of  the  play  —  more  clearly  a  conflict  of  duties  than  in  most  of 
the  thirty-three  Greek  tragedies  we  possess.  Strictly  speaking, 
there  can  be  no  conflict  of  duties,  since  only  one  can  be  para- 
mount at  one  time  ;  but  it  is  part  of  life's  tragedy  that  obedience 
to  a  high  principle  may  bring  the  individual  into  collision  with 
law,  with  convention,  with  family  ties ;  and  the  individual  may 
suffer  or  be  crushed  in  consequence.  This  holds  true  even  if 
questions  of  "  poetic  justice  "  be  flung  to  the  winds.  Sophocles 
did  not  weigh  Antigone  and  Creon  nicely  in  the  balance  that  he 
might  apportion  to  each  the  due  measure  of  suffering.  Those 
who  find  Antigone's  character  not  flawless  must  not  use  that  fact 
to  account  for  her  suffering.  That  suffering  is  the  inevitable 
result  of  the  situation  in  which  she  is  placed.  If  she  seems  cruel 
to  her  weaker  sister,  that  cruelty  is  to  be  explained,  in  part  at 
least,  by  the  strain  she  is  under,  and,  in  part,  by  a  desire  to  save 
that  sister's  life. 

For,  when  Ismene  is  brought  in,  she  appears  in  a  changed 
mood.  Not  strong  enough  to  do  and  dare  with  her  sister,  when 
the  deed  was  planned,  now  that  it  is  over  and  Antigone  must  die, 
a  great  wave  of  emotion  sweeps  over  her.  She  can  at  least  die 
with  her.  So,  when  asked,  she  avows  her  guilt  and  takes  her 
stand  at  her  sister' s  side.  She  is  repelled  with  words  so  true,  and 
yet  so  harsh,  that  the  truth  is  plain  even  to  Creon.  But  amid  the 
harshness  there  is  seen  now  and  again  the  love  of  a  sister,  too 
true  to  brook  falsehood,  yet  the  very  sadness  of  whose  lot  con- 
sists, in  part,  in  that  they  two  must  go  their  separate  ways. 
Finally  Antigone  is  led  away  to  her  dreadful  doom  —  to  be  interred 
alive.     Now  the  strength  that  enabled  her  to  act  regardless  of 


H  ANTIGONE 

consequences  to  herself,  the  strentrth  that  nerved  her  before 
Creon,  fails  her,  in  a  measure,  and  the  inevitable  reaction  comes. 
Life  is  so  fair,  and  she  must  bid  it  farewell,  must  leave  lovely 
Thebes  with  its  fountains,  leave  the  light  of  day  and  go  down 
into  the  darkness,  with  none  to  pity,  none  to  mourn !  Denied 
the  joys  of  love,  she  shall  be  the  bride  of  Death  !  O  the  pity  of 
it,  the  mystery  of  it ! 

Creon,  the  king,  is  a  character  broadly  but  forcibly  drawn. 
He  is  honest  and  well-meaning,  and  brings  to  his  position  of 
authority  abundant  loyalty,  and  a  good  stock  of  sound,  if  some- 
what conventional,  views  of  government ;  but  his  nature  is  a 
narrow  one,  and  his  point  of  view  only  too  apt  to  be  personal. 
In  his  first  speech  he  lays  down  the  principles  of  his  rule — honor 
to  the  loyal  and  dishonor  to  the  disloyal.  Hence  his  edict  con- 
cerning Polynices,  an  edict  springing,  it  is  true,  from  a  sound 
principle,  but  itself  violating  a  higher  law.  When  the  guard 
brings  word  that  that  edict  has  been  defied,  Creon  becomes  at 
once  furious.  Brushing  aside  the  opinions  of  others  and  brooking 
no  advice,  however  well  meant,  he  asserts  his  own  view :  this  is 
the  work  of  disaffected  citizens  who  have  bribed  the  guards.  Let 
them  produce  the  doer  under  penalty  of  an  awful  fate  for  them- 
selves. And  all  this  coupled  with  many  commonplaces,  many 
generalities — how  characteristic  of  a  narrow  nature  !  The  State 
has  been  defied,  but  so  has  Creon,  and  we  feel  already  that  it  is 
this  last  fact  that  rankles. 

So  we  are  prepared  in  advance  for  the  great  scene  mentioned 
abov-e.  He  has  been  defied,  defied,  it  now  appears,  by  a  mere 
girl,  who,  instead  of  breaking  down,  glories  in  her  act  and  prates 
about  higher  laws  than  his.  Verily  she  is  the  man,  not  he,  if  she 
perish  not  miserably,  sister's  child  to  him  though  she  be,  and 
betrothed  to  his  own  son. 

Then  that  son  appears,  not  a  frantic  lover,  but  in  the  very 
spirit  of  filial  submission.      And  the  father  shows  the  fitness  of 


ANTIGONE  17 

this  submission,  the  wisdom  of  his  course  —  more  generalities, 
more  good  maxims  —  yet  when  the  young  man  ventures  to  sug- 
gest counter-considerations  which  directly  concern  the  father  in 
his  position  as  ruler,  Creon  is  again  furious.  Shall  a  mere  boy 
teach  him  wisdom?  Nay,  though  all  Thebes  side  with  the  disaf- 
fected, is  not  he  king,  and  shall  he  not  rule  as  he  will  ?  So  at 
last  the  despairing  youth  rushes  from  the  stage  with  words  which, 
we  know,  betoken  a  resolve  not  to  survive  his  betrothed,  and 
Creon  —  who  had  just  bidden  his  attendants  to  bring  forth  "the 
hated  thing"  that  she  might  die  before  her  lover's  eyes  —  declares 
the  terrible  fate  in  store  for  her.  So  is  it  that  passion  chjuds  the 
mind  ;  even  as  Antigone  is  led  away,  he  breaks  out  once  more, 
and — a  noteworthy  touch — asserts  that  he  is  pure  in  the  matter  of 
her  death  ;  but  die  she  shall,  and  her  guards  shall  have  cause  to 
rue  their  slowness. 

Now  comes  the  aged  seer,  Tiresias,  with  words  of  warning. 
Creon  is  startled  with  dread,  for  Tiresias' s  words  are  sooth  ;  but 
as  the  seer  declares  that  it  is  because  of  the  king' s  act  that  the  gods 
have  been  alienated  and  bids  him  rectify  the  wrong  he  has  done, 
dread  gives  place  to  another  feeling  —  not  to  wrath  at  first,  but.  as 
it  were,  to  bewilderment.  Was  e\^er  well-meaning  man  so  beset  ? 
Even  the  seer  will  send  a  shaft  at  him  ;  and  again,  in  self-defense 
it  may  be,  he  comes  back  to  the  same  thought :  Tiresias  has  been 
suborned,  hired  by  malcontents  to  assail  him.  Then  the  seer 
speaks  again,  and  speaks  words  of  doom,  telling  of  the  fate  that 
is  in  store  for  the  unhappy  king,  —  the  death  of  one  sprung  from 
his  loins  in  requital  for  the  dead,  the  shrieks  of  men  and  women 
in  his  house,  the  hostility  of  states  whose  fallen  sons  ha\'e  been 
rent  by  dogs  and  birds. 

Then  Creon  breaks  down  ;  hurriedly  calling  his  servants  he 
sets  out  to  undo  what  he  has  done,  but  it  is  too  late.  From  the 
lips  of  a  messenger  we  learn  that  Polynices's  corpse  was  buried, 
but   that   when    they    reached   the   cave   where    Antigone    was 


i8  ANTIGONE 

entombed,  they  found  her  hanging  in  the  noose  with  which  she  had 
hung  herseh",  and  Hiemon,  frantic  with  grief,  cHnging  to  her  dead 
body.  A  maddened  rush  at  the  father  who  had  caused  this  woe, 
and  then  the  sword  plunged  into  his  own  side !  Such  was  the 
tale,  told  in  part  before  the  queen,  who  in  silent  anguish  goes 
within  to  take  her  life. 

Here  again  a  question  of  much  interest  suggests  itself. 
Creon  first  proceeds  to  give  interment  to  the  corpse  of  Polynices ; 
he  then  goes  to  liberate  Antigone,  but  is  too  late.  This  has 
seemed  a  dramatic  blemish,  a  flaw  in  structure,  even  to  so  sound 
and  so  sympathetic  a  critic  as  Sir  Richard  Jebb,  who  maintains 
that  ' '  we  are  not  given  any  reason  for  the  burial  being  taken  in 
hand  before  the  release,"  and  who  himself  holds  that  Sophocles 
here  disregarded  probability  and  the  fitting  order  of  events  solely 
that  the  following  speech  of  the  messenger,  narrating  the  catas- 
trophe, might  end  with  a  climax  and  so  satisfy  rhetorical  canons. 

This  seems  to  me  impossible  and  based  upon  a  wrong  inter- 
pretation of  Creon' s  character.  Rightly  understood  his  attitude 
from  the  first  is  that  of  one  who  represents  the  State.  In  his 
speeches  he  ever  recurs  to  that  idea,  and  the  grounds  upon  which 
his  cruel  edict  regarding  Polynices  was  based  were  grounds  of 
State  interest.  Short-sighted  his  policy  was,  but  it  was  sincere. 
Now  through  the  terrible  words  of  the  seer  he  learns  that  the 
wrath  of  heaven  menaces,  not  him  alone,  but  the  State  because  of 
the  sin  he  has  committed  in  leaving  the  corpse  of  Polynices 
unburied, —  an  act  as  a  result  of  which  the  very  altars  of  the  gods 
have  been  polluted.  He  will  therefore  seek  to  make  this  good 
by  interring  the  dead.  The  gods  must  be  propitiated  and  the 
safety  of  the  State  conserved.  It  is  only  as  a  secondary  matter 
that  Antigone  is  to  be  released.  Tiresias  had  not  mentioned  her 
in  his  opening  speech,  in  which  he  had  so  clearly  pointed  to  the 
king  as  the  one  by  whose  act  the  favor  of  heaven  had  been  alien- 
ated.    It  is  this  that  fills  Creon' s  mind;  and  he  turns  first  to  the 


ANTIGONE  21 

interment  of  Polynices  as  the  duty  that  touches  him  most  nearly 
as  the  head  of  the  State.  His  attitude  towards  Antigone  is  not 
essentially  changed  ;  yet  he  will  release  her  since  the  seer  has 
declared  that  in  immuring  a  living  soul  in  the  tomb  he  has  again 
sinned  against  the  gods,  and  he  will  leave  nothing  undone  that 
might  restore  his  peace. 

After  the  messenger's  speech  telling  of  the  fulfilment  of  the 
prophet's  words  the  king  again  appears.  Now  he  is  changed 
indeed  —  all  the  joy  of  life  and  of  kingship  gone,  and  through  his 
own  folly.  There  is  no  more  pride,  no  more  self-confidence ; 
only  heartbreaking  grief  and  the  wish  that  death  might  come  to 
him  too  —  a  rash,  foolish  man,  who  has  himself  caused  the  death  of 
those  he  loved  best. 

For  the  rest,  the  simplicity  of  structure,  the  long  speeches, 
the  dearth,  some  will  say,  of  action,  Httle  need  be  said.  To  the 
Greek  the  theory  of  dramatic  structure  was  not  summed  up  in 
the  development  of  a  good  fifth  act,  nor  was  he  inclined  to  hasten 
to  the  end.  He  loved  well  the  stately,  statuesque  scenes,  the 
rhythmical  movements  of  the  chorus  and  its  lyric'  song ;  but  he 
loved,  too,  effecti\e  narrative  and  logical  statement ;  and  in  these 
speeches  he  found  much  that,  while  it  appealed  to  his  sense  of 
reasonableness,  added  no  little  to  the  deep  delight  that  came  from 
seeing  the  poet's  profound  interpretation  of  the  facts  of  life  as 
seen  in  the  play.  A_  T.  Murray. 


THE    CHORAL    SIDE    OF 
ANTIGONE. 


A  GREEK    tragedy   resembles  a   modern   opera   to   this 
extent  —  that  certain  portions  have  a  musical  settinjj^  and 
are  presented  by  a  chorus.    This  chorus,  however,  is  not 
an  accidental  or  external  element,   but  is,   historically, 
the  oldest  and  most  essential  characteristic.     Originally,   indeed, 
The  Chonts      tragedies   were   purely    lyrical, —  stories  set  forth 
Essential  to      wholly  in  song  and  dance.     With  the  develojjment 
Grtr   ijageay.   of  dialogue,  the  chorus  was  gradually  subordinated 
to  this  more  dramatic  element,  but  not  until  the  decline  of  tragic 
art  had  set  in,  did  the  Greek  chorus  serve  as  a  mere  ornament. 
In  Sophocles,  therefore,  representing  as  he  does  the  high-water 
mark  of  Greek   tragedy,    the  chorus  must  be  regarded  as  an 
artistic  essential,  and  in  him  the  lyric  and  dramatic  elements  are 
blended  in  perfect  harmony. 

The  Greeks  themseKes  regarded  the  chorus  as  a  dramatis 

persona,  and  this  is  why,   in  the   Stanford    programme   of  the 

Its  Function      Antigone,   the  chorus  of  Thel)an  elders  is  given 

as  a  Dramatis    a  place  in  the  cast.     The  chorus,  then,  is  an  actor 

Persona.         ^^  acting  body,  and  under  the  direction  of  the 

coryphieus  participates  in  the  action  of  the  piece.     Nor  is  its  part 

unimportant.     Of  all  the  dramatis  personce,  it  is  the  one  most  in 

evidence   during  the  play,    making  its  apj^earance  immediately 

after  the  introductory  scene  {\\\^  prologue,  in  the  Greek  sense  of 

the  word),  and  being  the  last  to  leave  the  stage.      Its  continuous 

presence  throughout  the  piece  secures  for  the  play  a  sense  of 

harmony,  and  an  unbroken  unity,  which  the  modern  drama  of 

the  Romantic  school,  with  all  its  merits,  can  never  claim.     The 


r 


ANTIGONE  27 

chorus  are  interested  spectators  of  the  action  from  first  to  last. 
They  receive  and  impart  information,  give  and  accept  counsel, 
interpret  the  motives  of  conduct,  relie\'e  the  monotony  incidental 
to  long  speeches,  and  in  various  ways  facilitate  a  natural  outwork- 
ing of  the  dramatic  situations. 

As  elders  of  the  State,  the  chorus  of  the  Antigone  are  vitally 
concerned   in    the   welfare   of  both   princes  and  people.     They 
receive  with  due  respect  the  message  of  the  new        illustrated 
king,  and  though  they  betray  a  doubt  as  to  the        frmn  the 
wisdom  of  his  course,  yet  they  express  their  loyal        Antigone. 
submission  to  his  decree  (211-220).     On  learning  the  startling 
news  that  some  one  unknown  has  paid  the  burial  dues  to   Poly- 
nices,  they  hazard  the  conjecture  (278-9)  that  divine  hands  have 
done  the  deed,  whereupon  they  are  sharply  rebuked  by  the  king. 

The  arrest  of  Antigone  makes  a  profound  impression  upon 
the  chorus.  That  she,  a  royal  maiden,  the  daughter  of  CEdipus, 
should  wilfully  disobey  the  king,  is  past  their  understanding 
(376-383).     They  can  attribute  her  act  only  to  passionate  folly 

(471). 

In  the  angry  scene  which  follows,  both  Antigone  and  Creon 
claim  to  have  the  approval  of  the  chorus,  who  however  wisely 
hold  their  peace,  until  the  appearance  of  Ismene  elicits  the  beau- 
tiful anapaests,  which  show  where  their  real  sympathy  lies.  Their 
genuine  grief  over  the  threatened  punishment  of  Antigone  leads 
shortly  to  an  actual  remonstrance  with  the  king  (574),  who  by 
his  curt  and  sarcastic  replies  soon  silences  all  opposition  on  their 
part. 

Throughout  the  scene  between  Haemon  and  his  father,  the 
chorus  adopt  a  strictly  neutral  attitude  (681-2,  724-5),  though  on 
the  former's  departure  they  suggest  to  the  king  that  he  should 
make  some  allowance  for  the  heat  of  youth.  A  moment  later,  a 
hint  from  Creon  that  Ismene  is  to  share  her  sister' s  fate  calls  forth 
a  veiled  protest  (770),  to  which  Creon  deigns  to  give  heed.     As 


28  ANTIGONE 

to  Antigone,  the  chorus  attempt  no  more  pleading  on  her 
behalf,  but  simply  inquire  by  what  mode  he  intends  to  put  her 
to  death. 

In  the  king's  absence,  the  chorus  freely  avow  that  pity  for 
Antigone  tempts  them  to  rebel  against  his  sentence  (800-5). 
When  the  doomed  maiden  appears  they  offer  words  of  comfort, 
which,  in  her  distress,  sound  like  hollow  mockery  (839),  where- 
upon they  confess  their  conviction  that,  notwithstanding  her 
nobility  of  conduct,  the  punishment  was  inevitable  and  is,  in  a 
sense,  self-imposed  (872-5).  Antigone's  last  words  are  addressed 
to  the  chorus,  as  "  lords  of  Theb^,"  who  behold  the  sufferings 
of  this  last  daughter  of  their  kingly  race  (940-3). 

After  the  stormy  scene  between  Creon  and  Tiresias,  the 
chorus  plainly  warn  the  king  that  he  is  pursuing  a  ruinous  Course, 
and  as  he  is  now  disposed  to  listen  to  reason,  they  counsel  him  to 
undo  the  wrong  at  once  by  setting  Antigone  free.  The  king 
yields.  It  is  at  this  point  that  the  dramatic  function  of  the  chorus, 
in  its  capacity  as  an  actor  influencing  the  action  of  the  piece,  can 
be  seen  most  conspicuously.  In  the  rest  of  the  play,  the  chorus 
serve  mainly  as  the  recipients  of  the  evil  tidings  brought  by  the 
messenger,  or  as  the  confidants  of  the  unhappy  monarch,  who 
now  confesses  his  terrible  error  to  the  very  men  whose  advice  he 
had  so  hastily  and  foolishly  rejected. 

But  notwithstanding  this  oft-forgotten  importance  of  the  dra- 
matic side  of  the  chorus,  we  must  emphasize  the  fact  that  its 

Lvrial  "i^i"  function  is,  after  all,  not  dramatic  but  lyriail. 

Function  of  the  All  great  tragedies,  whether  Sophoclean  or  Shake> 
dot  us.  pearian,  are  poems  charged  with  emotion,  but 
while  in  a  Shakespearian  play  this  emotion  finds  expression  in 
outbursts  of  lofty  poetry  on  the  lips  of  the  principal  characters, 
in  a  Sophoclean  such  imaginative  flights  are  almost  wholly  con 
fined  to  distinctly  lyrical  passages,  presented  by  the  whole  chorus 
in  true  lyrical  fashion  —  with  song-and-dance  accompaniment.    In 


ANTIGONE  31 

Shakespeare,  such  exalted  poetry  as  characterizes  certain  scenes  in 
the  dialogue,  e.  g.,  Macbeth' s  — 

"  Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry,  'Sleep  no  more,'" 
or  again,  the  great  soliloquies,  such  as  Hamlet's — 

"To  be  or  not  to  be," 
or  Wolsey's — 

"  Farewell,  a  long  farewell,  to  all  my  greatness  !  " 

however  beautiful  as  poetry,  are  essentially  undramatic  in  spirit, 
and  always  present  peculiar  difficulties  to  actors  in  the  rendition. 
Only  the  greatest  can  prevent  such  scenes  from  becoming  gro- 
tesque. 

Now,  in  a  Greek  tragedy,  these  imaginative  lyrics  —  which, 
after  all,  are  essential  in  some  form  to  every  great  drama,  instead 
of  being  diffused  throughout  the  play,  appear  usually  in  more 
concentrated  form  at  the  most  important  stages  of  the  action. 
The  result  is  that,  unlike  a  modern  play,  for  which  stage-managers 
often  feel  compelled  to  provide  irrelevant  interludes,  a  Greek 
tragedy  is  a  continuous,  unbroken  performance,  the  purely  dra- 
matic scenes  being  punctuated,  as  it  were,  by  lofty  choral  odes  — 
' '  lyrical  interbreathings ' '  —  which  interpret  the  spiritual  mean- 
ing of  the  play,  and  are,  therefore,  perfectly  relevant  to  the 
-situation,  but  which,  at  the  same  time,  from  the  manner  of  their 
rendition,  afford  a  pleasing  relief  to  the  strain  on  the  spectator's 
attention. 

In  the  Antigone  there  are  six  of  these  choral  odes  —  beauti- 
ful compositions,  which  show  much  variety  in  lyrical  conception. 
The  first   (100-154)   is  a   brilliant  one,    opening  choral 

and  closing  w-ith  strains  of  joyful  exultation.     The       Odes  of /he 
Theban   elders,    assembling   in    response   to   the  igone. 

king's  summons,  greet  the  newly  risen  sun,  '*  loveliest  light  that 
ever  shone  on  seven-gated  Theb^,"  and  describe  in  vivid  fashion 


32  ANTIGONE 

the  terrors  of  the  Argive  attack,  the  overthrow  of  Polynices,  and 
the  subsequent  flight  of  the  besieging  host.  For  so  glorious  a 
victory  they  pour  forth  their  thankfulness  to  the  gods,  whose 
shrines  they  will  visit  under  the  leadership  of  Bacchus  himself, 
the  tutelar  god  of  Thebes. 

The  first  episode,  a  term  which  practically  coincides  with  the 
modern  act,  comprises  Creon's  lengthy  address  upon  a  king's 
duties  and  the  announcement  of  his  edict.  This  is  followed  by 
the  startling  tidings  that  some  daring  person  has  already  violated 
the  edict.  Hence,  in  their  second  ode  (332-375),  the  chorus  are 
led  to  reflect  upon  the  mar\'elous  ingenuity  of  man,  who  makes 
himself  master  of  sea  and  land  ;  who  subdues  to  himself  the  fowls 
of  the  air,  the  fishes  of  the  sea,  and  the  beasts  of  the  field  ;  and 
who  has  provided  himself  with  all  resources,  save  only  against 
Death.  This  inventive  skill  brings  him  to  evil  as  well  as  to  good. 
When  he  upholds  law  and  justice  (as  does  Creon),  he  and  his 
State  prosper,  but  when  in  his  audacity  he  breaks  the  laws,  ruin 
must  l)e  his  lot.  "  Never  may  he  share  my  hearth,  or  think  my 
thoughts,  who  doth  such  things  ! ' ' 

When  the  sentence  of  death  is  passed  upon  Antigone,  the 
chorus  (582-625),  in  saddened  tone,  ponder  on  the  destiny  of  the 
royal  house  of  Thebes,  upon  which  the  waves  of  trouble  never 
cease  to  break.  Generation  after  generation  is  weighed  dov^n 
with  calamity,  and  now  utter  extinction  threatens  the  race.  What 
mortal,  they  cry,  can  set  limits  to  the  power  of  omnipotent  Zeus? 
By  divine  law,  inordinate  success  or  ambition  brings  to  man  a 
curse,  for  in  his  blindness  he  falls  into  sin,  and  then  "  but  for  the 
briefest  space  fares  he  free  from  woe."  Thus  do  the  chorus 
unconsciously  suggest  Creon's  subsequent  punishment. 

In  the  third  episode,  Ha^^mon  vainly  intercedes  for  his 
betrothed,  and  then  quits  the  scene  in  anger.  The  charming  ode 
which  follows  (78 1 -See)  sings  the  resistless  power  of  Love,  who 
sways  mortals  and  immortals  alike,  and  warps  the  minds  even  of 


ANTIGONE  37 

the  just.       It  is  under  his  spell  that  Haemon  has  been  disobedient 
to  his  father  and  disloyal  to  his  king. 

As  Antigone  passes  to  her  rocky  tomb,  the  chorus,  in  their 
fifth  ode  (944-987),  reflect  upon  the  truth  that  no  mortal  can 
escape  fate  and  recall  three  other  royal  personages,  who  ha\e  suf- 
fered the  horrors  of  a  cruel  punishment.  Danae,  a  princess  of 
Argos,  was  immured  in  a  brazen  chamber ;  Lycurgus,  king  of 
Thrace,  was  imprisoned  in  a  rocky  cave ;  and  Cleopatra,  of  the 
ancient  house  of  the  Erechthidae,  and  daughter  of  Boreas,  endured 
in  agony  the  blinding  of  her  sons  by  the  woman  who  supplanted 
her  as  wife  of  Phineus. 

The  last  ode  (1115-1154)  has  a  distinct  dramatic  purpose. 
The  seer  Tiresias  has  warned  Creon  that  divine  vengeance  for  his 
offenses  most  surely  awaits  him,  and  after  a  short  consultation 
with  the  chorus  the  king  has  hastened  forth  to  undo,  if  possible, 
his  terrible  misdeeds.  The  chorus  are  filled  with  hope  that  his 
repentance  will  avert  the  horrors  foretold  by  the  seer,  and,  in  fervid 
and  exultant  strains  of  joyful  anticipation,  invoke  the  saving 
presence  of  the  god,  whom  Thebes  delights  to  honor  —  the  bright 
and  glorious  Dionysus. 

But  the  lyrical  quality,  which  is  so  conspicuous  in  a  Greek 
tragedy,  is  not  necessarily  confined  to  the  choral  odes,  nor  indeed 
to  the  chorus  itself.     Thus   in  the  Antigone,  two      Tvrics  in  the 
passages  in  the  dialogue  are  distinctly  lyrical,  and   Dialogue  of  the 
in  the  original  are  given  in  the  strophic  form,  with  "  igotie. 

metres  characteristic  of  lyric  poetry. 

The  fourth  episode  (806-943)  is  mainly  of  this  character. 
Antigone  is  led  forth  from  the  palace,  to  be  conducted  presently 
to  her  rocky  tomb.  The  full  significance  of  her  fate  seems  to  be 
borne  in  upon  her,  as  she  beholds  for  the  last  time  the  light  of 
the  sun  and  the  sacred  soil  of  her  native  land,  and  in  the  presence 
of  the  elders  she  pours  forth  her  sad  lament  in  touching  strains. 
It  is  worth  noticing  that  the  measures  assigned  to  the  chorus  in 


38  ANTIGONE 

this  pathetic  scene  are  less  emphatically  lyrical  than  those  given 
to  Antigone.  Her  emotion  is  naturally  at  its  height  at  this 
point,  whereas  the  chorus,  though  extremely  sympathetic,  are 
the  less  impassioned  witnesses,  who  do  not  lose  sight  of  the  logic 
of  the  situation. 

The  second  passage  occurs  near  the  end  of  the  play.  Creon 
enters  (1260)  with  the  body  of  Ha;mon,  and  in  accents  of  remorse 
and  despair  bewails  his  unhappy  fate,  and  prays  for  a  speedy 
death.  The  metre,  assigned  here  by  the  poet  to  Creon,  is  mainly 
the  dochmiac,  which  is  expressive  of  the  most  intense  and  tem- 
pestuous emotion,  whereas  the  chorus  employs  the  metre  of 
ordinary  dialogue  —  the  iambic  trimeter  —  which  passes  into  a 
marching  measure,  as  the  broken-hearted  Creon  leaves  the  stage 
and  the  chorus  follow,  chanting  a  sad  strain  on  the  fall  that  waits 
upon  pride. 

An  analysis  of  this  sort  shows  how  intimately  blended  in 
Sophocles  are  the  lyric  and  dramatic  elements  of  tragedy,  and  this 
Four  Kinds  of  ^'"'"^^  "^  ^^  ^^  question  of  their  mode  of  presen- 
V^ocal  Express-  tation.  It  should  always  be  borne  in  mind  that 
ions  in  Tragedy,  ^^agedy  was  at  first  wholly  lyrical,  a  stor>'  set 
forth  in  a  dance-song.  The  musical  element,  therefore,  far  from 
being  extraneous  to  Greek  tragedy,  was  an  original  feature,  and 
even  when  the  dramatic  side  was  fully  developed,  we  have  ample 
evidence  that  much  of  the  dialogue  was  rendered  with  a  musical 
delivery.  Plutarch,  for  instance,  tells  us  that  the  tragedians  fol- 
lowed the  custom,  first  set  by  Archilochus,  of  having  their  iambics 
(the  ordinary  dialogue)  only  partially,  not  wholly  (as  had  been 
the  custom)  sung,  and  musical  recitative,  we  know,  was  always 
employed  very  largely  on  the  Greek  stage. '  In  fact,  the  presen- 
tation of  a  Greek  tragedy  in  ancient  times  necessitated  four  kinds 
of  vocal  expression,  viz.,  plain  sjjeech,  and  three  forms  of  musical 
or  semi-musical  delivery,  all  of  which  involved  an  instrumental 

I  See  .S/iiihf\  m  Hntiiir  of  Basil  Lan>i>-aii  (iililfi  sifrve.  \i.  iii  (  Baltinv>re.  igoii. 


ANTIGONE  41 

accompaniment.  These  were  melodramatic  declamation,  musical 
recitative,  and  distinct  melody.  It  is  impossible  to  define  with 
precision  the  limits  assigned  to  these  modes  of  delivery  in  regard 
to  any  particular  Greek  play.  Probably  considerable  latitude 
was  allowed  in  this  respect,  so  that  two  choregi  would  follow  a 
different  practice  for  the  same  play. 

Plain  speech,  without  musical  accompaniment,  was  the  rule 
for  the  trimeters  of  ordinary  dialogue,   though  we  know  from 
Lucian  (as  well  as  from  Plutarch),  that  even  these 
were  sometimes  sung.     Melodies  were,  of  course,     Plam  Speech. 
employed  in  the  choral  odes,  as  well  as  in  the 
impassioned  lyrical  scenes  in  which  the  actors  participated,  e.  g., 
the  laments,  in  strophic  form,  of  Antigone  and  Creon.     Inter- 
mediate between  plain   dialogue  and  pure  lyrics 
were     the     portions    of    tragedy     which     were         Melody. 
delivered  either  in  musical  recitative  or  in  melodra- 
matic declamation.  *      The  form  adopted  depended,   no  doubt, 
upon   the   emotional    character  of  the   scene,   and  the  place  it 
occupies  in  the  play. 

Thus  melodrama,  i.  e. ,  ordinary  speech  with  musical  accom- 
paniment, was  the  form  naturally  employed  in  those  anapaestic 
lines  with  which  the  coryphaeus,  at  the  close  of  a 
choral  ode,  calls  attention  to  the  appearance  of  a      Melodrama. 
new  character   on  the  stage,   as  in  the  case  of 
Creon,    Antigone,   and    Hamon   (155- 161,    376-383,    626-630), 
From  the  musical  point  of  view,  melodrama  would  afford  a  natural 
transition  from  the  sung  lyrics  to  the  spoken  dialogue.       In  the 
case  of  Ismene's  entrance  (526-530),  which  is  made,  not  at  the 
end  of  a  choral  ode,  but  in  the  course  of  the  dialogue  between 
Creon  and  Antigone,  the  pathos  of  the  lines  uttered  would  account 
sufficiently  for  the  introduction  of  music  with  the  anapaests,  while 

2  Some  writers  make  the  mistake  of  failing  to  distinguish  these  two  modes.    Thus 
Haijih,  The  Attic  Theatre^  p.  joi. 


4*  ANTIGONE 

on  the  other  hand  the  position  of  the  lines  used  (i  180-2).  the 
iambic  metre,  and  the  commonplace  character  of  the  statement 
made,  would  all  indicate  that  Eurydice's  appearance  was  heralded 
without  music  of  any  sort.  Creon's  final  appearance  at  the  side 
of  Hremon's  bier  (1257- 1260)  is  announced  by  anapaests,  the 
melodramatic  delivery  of  which  would  be  a  natural  mode  of  pass- 
ing from  the  dialogue  to  the  lyrics  which  were  undoubtedly  sung 
by  Creon. 

On  the  other  hand,  recitative,  by  which  is  meant  a  musical 
chant  delivery,  not  necessarily  confined  to  a  single  voice,  must 
have  been  employed  in  the  anajxestic  systems 
Recitative.  (110-115,  127-133,  141-147)  which  separate  the 
strophes  of  the  first  choral  ode,  as  well  as  in  the 
like  systems,  which  are  employed  by  the  chorus  between  the 
strophes  of  Antigone's  lyrical  lament  (817-822,  834-839). 
Further  on  in  this  latter  scene,  the  chorus  break  into  full  melody, 
in  response  to  Antigone's  song,  employing  a  short  strophe  with 
corresponding  antistrophe  (853-856=872-875).  The  anapaests 
(800-5),  with  which  the  coryphaeus  announces  the  final  appearance 
of  Antigone,  may  well  have  been  sung  in  recitative.  They  are 
full  of  emotion,  and  do  not  introduce  plain  dialogue,  but  stand 
between  two  strophic  systems  of  lyrics.  The  single  iambic  lines 
(1270,  1293),  with  which  the  chorus  give  to  the  actor  of  Creon's 
part  a  moment's  breathing-space  between  the  strophes  of  his  song, 
were  also  probably  sung  in  recitative,  which  would  be  the  most 
natural  mode  of  expression  for  lines  in  such  a  position.  Certainly, 
the  scene  is  too  intensely  lyrical  for  the  employment  of  plain 
speech  at  such  points.  The  same  is  true  of  the  choral  iambics  in 
the  remainder  of  this  scene,  including  the  single  iambic  line 
(  1336)  of  Creon's,  just  before  the  last  strophe  of  his  piteous  song  : 

"  Yet  all  I  crave  is  summed  up  in  that  prayer." 
The  closing  anajjoests,  which  point  the  moral  of  the  play,  were 
probably  sung  in  recitative  by  the  whole  chorus.     The  lyrical 


ANTIGONE  45 

agitation,  just  preceding,  has  been  too  intense  to  permit  a  sudden 
drop  to  mere  melodrama,  to  say  nothing  of  plain  speech,  and  it 
is  hardly  necessary  to  add  that  the  chant  of  the  whole  chorus  at 
the  close  of  the  play  is  extremely  impressive.' 

The  combination  of  these  several  modes  of  vocal  expression 
introduced  great  variety  into  the  presentation  of  a  play,  and  must 
have  done  much  toward  relieving  the  monotony  y    ■  . 

which  we  are  inclined  to  associate  with  a  Greek  in  the 

tragedy,  on  account  of  the  unchanged  scene,  the     Presentation. 
non-employment  of  interludes,    and  a  strict  observance  of  the 
unities  of  time  and  place. 

Let  us  illustrate  this  statement  by  that  portion  of  the  play 
which  intervenes  between  the  third  and  fourth  choral  odes.  After 
the  singing  of  the  hymn  to  Eros  (781-799)  by  illustration 
the  whole  chorus,  the  coryphaeus  chanted  in  reci-  from  the 
tative  the  following  anapaests  (800-805).  Then  Antigone. 
come  the  lyrics  sung  by  Antigone  —  two  strophes,  two  anti- 
strophes  and  an  epode  (after-song),  intermingled  with  which  are 
the  X^KO  anapaestic  systems  chanted  by  the  chorus  in  recitati\'e, 
and  the  single  strophe  (853-6),  with  its  corresponding  antistrophe 
(S72-5),  which  were  sung  in  melody.  In  the  sudden  change  to 
spoken  iambics,  Creon  administers  a  harsh  rebuke  for  these  ' '  songs 
and  lamentations"  (883),  and  sharply  orders  the  guards  to  lead 
t-lieir  prisoner  away.  Antigone,  however,  is  allowed  to  renew 
her  lament  (891),  which  is  no  longer  uttered  in  lyrical  song,  but 
has  subsided  into  plain  iambics,  delivered,  I  am  inclined  to  think, 
with  a  musical  accompaniment.  As  she  turns  to  leave  the  stage 
the  chorus  speak  of  the  fierce  tempest  in  her  soul,  in  melo- 
dramatic anapaests,  which  Creon,  in  disdainful  mockery,  also 
employs,  as  he  launches  a  threat  at  the  guards  for  their  slowness. 
Antigone's  final  anapaests,  as  the  guards  at  last  carry  out  Creon 's 
order,  may  well,  in  view  of  the  rising  emotion,  have  been  ren- 

1  See  Haigh,  The  Attic  Theatre,  p.  544. 


46  ANTIGONE 

dered  in  recitative,  thus  leading  vip  by  a  natural  gradation  to  the 
long  choral  ode,  which  precedes  the  entrance  of  Tiresias. 

In  the  choral  odes,  we  have  the  complete  combination  of  the 
sister  arts  of  poetry,  music,  and  dance,  —  a  combination,  which, 

Ui  itv  ^^"^  from  being  artificial,  is  but  the  artistic  devel- 

ofthe  Lyric  opment  of  an  ancient  and  even  primitive  concep- 
tion  of  the  essential  unity  of  these  rhythmic  arts. 
The  Greek  lyric  or  dramatic  poet  was  necessarily  a  musician,  and 
not  only  wrote  the  verses  to  be  sung,  but  gave  them  their 
musical  setting.  Further,  he  possessed  a  practical  knowledge  of 
orchestic,  and  originally  taught  the  chorus  the  various  gestures, 
postures  and  attitudes,  which,  under  the  name  dancing,  aided  in 
the  expression  of  emotion  and  the  interpretation  of  his  verse. 

The  Greek  dancer  desired  to  give  visible  expression  by  means 
of  rhythmical  movements  of  the  body,  to  the  words  of  the  song. 
Hence  gesticulation  was  the  most  prominent 
Greek  Dancing,  feature  of  the  art,  and  the  hands  and  arms  of  the 
dancer  were  more  in  evidence  than  his  feet.  This 
dancing  was  not  confined  even  to  the  lyrical  parts  of  a  drama. 
We  are  told,  for  example,  that  Telestes,  who  lived  in  the  days  of 
itschylus,  was  such  an  excellent  artist  that  in  dancing  the  Seven 
aj^ainst  Thebes,  he  brought  the  incidents  vividly  before  his 
audience.  This  cannot  but  refer  to  his  art  in  illustrating  the 
lengthy  descriptive  speeches  of  the  play.  The  whole  action  of  a 
drama  was,  of  course,  followed  by  the  chorus  with  keen  interest, 
and  the  constant  by-play  in  which  it  indulged  might  well  come 
under  the  head  of  dancing.  There  must,  in  fact,  have  been 
infinite  varieties  of  dancing,  though  we  know  that  the  art  was  to 
some  extent  systematized  for  purposes  of  instruction  and  reduced 
to  certain  types.  Tragic  dances  naturally  differed  from  comic  ones, 
and  were  usually  confined  to  stately  and  dignified  motions.  Their 
character,  however,  depended  entirely  upon  the  nature  of  the 
ode.     In  the  Antigone,  the  invocation  to  Bacchus  belongs  to  the 


ANTIGONE  51 

class  of  odes  known  as  hyporchemata,  in  which  the  dance-move- 
ments are  unusually  lively.  This  is,  of  course,  in  keeping  with 
the  situation.  The  first  ode,  too,  which  involves  the  vivid 
description  of  a  battle,  and  the  joyous  exultation  of  victors,  must 
have  been  accompanied  by  a  very  spirited  dance.  In  the  reflective 
odes,  the  dancing  was  more  subdued,  but  one  noticeable  artistic 
feature  of  a  play  like  the  Antigone  is  the  variety  of  its  lyric 
thought,  and  the  consequent  variety  of  expressive  orchestic 
movements  which  it  involves. 

The  music  of  the  ancient  Greeks  deserves  more  than  the 
slight  notice  which  the  limits  of  this  paper  will  allow.  It  is  usual 
to  dismiss  the  subject  with  the  remark  that  Greek 
music  was  utterly  different  from  the  modern  art,  Greek  Music. 
and  being  in  a  primitive  stage  is  hardly  worthy  of 
our  consideration.  "  We  are  deaf  to  its  appeal  and  incredulous 
of  its  beauty."  '  One  might  as  well  dispose  of  Greek  mathe- 
matics in  the  same  way.  We  should  remember  that  with  the 
Greeks  music  was  "an  art  as  living  as  poetry  or  sculpture  "  ^  — 
an  art  which  engaged  the  attention  of  their  noblest  intellects,  and 
upon  which  many  scientific  treatises  were  written.  Unfortunately, 
very  little  of  their  actual  music  has  survived,  and  this  little  belongs 
to  a  late  period,  when  all  the  arts  had  sadly  declined  from  their 
earlier  greatness.  However,  the  music  of  the  Hymn  to  Apollo, 
which  was  composed  in  the  third  century  before  Christ,  and 
which,  engraved  on  marble  in  the  Greek  notation,  was  discovered 
by  the  French  archaeologists  at  Delphi  in  1893,  has  elicited  much 
admiration  from  cultivated  audiences  in  Europe  and  America, 
because  of  its  ample  melodiousness,  its  noble  serenity,  and  its 
uplifting  spirituality.  Judging  from  this  late  specimen  alone,  we 
may  well  believe  that  the  best  Greek  music,  as  Plato  has  it,  could 
' '  sink  into  our  inmost  soul  and  take  hold  of  it  most  powerfully. ' '  ' 

I  and  2     From  a  review  of  Professor  Macraii's  The  Harmonics  of  Aristoxenus  in 
the  London  Tinifs'  literarv  supplement,  Dec,  1901. 
}  Republic ,  III,  401' D. 


52  ANTIGONE 

The  main  difference  between  the  ancient  and  modern  art  lies 
in  the  fact  that  vocal   music  was  pure  melody,  harmony   Ixring 
Contrast        confined  to  instrumental  music.    All  Greek  singing 
with  Modem     was  therefore  in  unison,  the  accompaniment  alone 
«-y'^-  being  in  harmony.    This  method,  as  is  well  known, 

is  frequently  employed  even  today  in  the  sacred  music  of  many 
great  continental  churches.  In  their  lyric  song,  the  Greeks 
regarded  the  poetic  thought  as  of  prime  importance,  and  the 
music,  aided  by  the  dance,  was  exjiected,  not  to  obscure,  but  to 
emphasize  and  illuminate  the  words  employed.  Thus  the  music 
of  an  ode  was  much  less  complex  than  the  elaborate  harmonies  of 
a  modern  opera,  though,  on  the  other  hand,  by  reason  of  the 
intricate  rhythmical  structure  of  the  ode,  it  must  have  been  far 
more  complicated  than  the  simple  airs,  repeated  with  every  stanza, 
of  our  national  and  popular  ballads.  At  the  same  time,  the 
rhythm  of  Greek  music  was  always  strongly  marked,  as  we  may 
infer  from  Plato  and  Aristotle.  The  time,  too,  was  in  strict  accord 
with  the  verse-metre,  so  that,  for  example,  owing  to  the  frequent 
use  in  poetry  of  cretic  (-u- )  and  p^eonian  (-vw)  feet,  five-fourth 
time  (illustrated  by  the  Hymn  to  Apollo^,  though  quite  rare  in 
modern  music,  was  common  with  the  Greeks.  Abo\e  all,  Greek 
music,  in  its  various  modes,  whatever  be  the  correct  theory  as  to 
their  nature,  was  able  to  interpret  adequately  many  states  of  feel- 
ing, and  could  give  fitting  and  satisfying  expression  to  the  various 
mental  attitudes  reflected  in  lyrical  song. 

Knowing  then  these  leading  facts  about  the  Greek  lyric  art, 
let  us  consider  what  kind  of  music  —  in  view  of  the  loss  of  the 

ancient — we  should  employ  in  a  modern  repre- 
^^Afitigive"^    sentation  of  the  Antzgonr.     For  this  play,  at  the 

instance  of  Frederick  William  IV  of  Prussia, 
Mendelssohn  in  1841  composed  some  of  the  most  beautiful  choral 
music  ever  written.  Those  who  are  thoroughly  familiar  with  both 
the  music  and  the  Greek  text  know  how  admirably  he  has  inter- 


ANTIGONE  55 

preted  the  spirit  of  the  original  in  strains  that  appeal  to  the 
modern  ear.  The  Greek  itself,  as  well  as  Donner's  German 
translation,  was  evidently  before  the  musician's  eyes  while  com- 
posing his  work.  In  adapting  the  music  to  the  original  text,  as 
was  done  for  the  Stanford  performances,  one  very  seldom  finds 
that  the  Greek  metrical  feet  and  the  musical  phrasing  do  not 
closely  correspond.  The  metrical  accent  almost  invariably  coin- 
cides with  the  main  beat  of  the  musical  measure,  and  it  not  infre- 
quently happens  that  the  music  is  better  suited  to  the  Greek  than 
to.  the  translation,  made  "in  the  metres  of  the  original."  The 
result  is  a  set  of  brilliant  choruses  for  male  voices,  which  have 
an  almost  unique  musical  value. 

No  one,  of  course,  pretends  to  claim  that  Mendelssohn's 
music  enables  us  to  realize,  in  any  degree,  the  character  of  the 
lost  original.  It  must  be  judged  wholly  from  a  Poittt<;  of 
modern  standpoint.  And  yet  certain  of  its  features  Resemblance  to 
remind  us  of  the  leading  characteristics  of  the  ^''^'''^  Music. 
Greek  art.  A  large  portion  of  it  is  sung  in  unison ;  the  rhythm 
is  strongly  marked ;  each  note  corresponds,  as  a  rule,  to  a  sep- 
arate verse-syllable ;  and  only  occasionally  has  the  composer 
yielded  to  the  temptation  of  allowing  different  words  to  be  sung 
by  different  parts  of  the  chorus  at  the  same  time.  Moreover,  the 
frequent  use  of  recitative  and  melodrama  is,  as  we  have  shown, 
thoroughly  in  accord  with  Greek  usage,  and  in  this  connection  it 
is  interesting  to  observe  that  xMendelssohn's  lyric  genius  has  led 
him  to  follow  pretty  closely  the  general  principles  observed  by 
the  ancients  in  distributing  the  forms  of  musical  expression. 
Above  all,  the  music  never  overrides  the  poetic  thought,  but 
assists  it  with  such  expressiveness  that  a  hearer,  though  ignorant 
of  the  Greek,  can  hardly  fail  to  follow  the  general  meaning. 

We  have  dwelt  thus  fully  upon  the  main  features  of  Men- 
delssohn's Antigone,  because  there  are  some  who  maintain  that 
the  use  of  this  modern  music  serves  to  convey  to  the  spectators  a 


56  ANTIGONE 

wrong  impression  as  to  the  character  of  a  Greek  play.  Such 
critics  would  prefer  to  present  the  Antig^one  with  a  minimum 
amount  of  colorless  music,  specially  composed  by 
Its  Suitability,  some  local  musician.  Such  a  step  may  be  neces- 
sary in  the  case  of  most  plays,  but  when  a  great 
genius  like  Mendelssohn  has  provided  the  Antigone  with  a  beau- 
tiful and  adequate  musical  setting,  I  see  no  good  reason  for  putting 
it  aside  in  favor  of  a  purely  pedantic  composition,  which  can  never 
appeal  to  modern  ears  and  hearts  in  the  way  in  which  the  ancient 
music  stirred  the  emotions  of  the  hearers.  For,  after  all,  a  modern 
presentation  of  a  Greek  masterpiece  should  aim  at  producing  the 
ensemble  effect  of  the  original,  and  this  can  never  be  done  if  we 
employ  music  which  means  little  to  us,  because,  forsooth,  we 
choose  to  imagine  that  the  ancient  music  was  valueless.  Amid 
all  our  ignorance  of  the  actual  music  of  the  Greeks,  one  fact,  at 
least,  is  impressed  upon  us  over  and  over  again  by  the  ancient 
\\ Titers,  and  that  is  that  the  music  of  their  great  lyric  poets  was  a 
spiritual  power,  which  ' '  sank  into  the  inmost  soul, ' '  and  con- 
tributed to  the  upbuilding  of  a  manly,  noble,  and  beautiful  char- 
acter. 

An  able  critic  of  the  Stanford  performances'  described  the 
genius   of  Mendelssohn   as  "  half  Christian,    half  Jewish,"  and 
j^.  therefore    unsuited  for  Greek   subjects.     I  must 

Jewish  Question  confess  that,  as  applied  to  music,  the  phrase 
Again.  employed  conveys  to  my  mind  very  little  mean- 
ing, and  seems  to  be  a  mere  echo  of  the  outcry  once  raised  in 
German  Wagnerian  circles  against  things  Semitic,  but  it  does 
serve  to  remind  one  of  the  interesting  fact  that  historians  of  music 
are  still  debating  the  question  whether  our  oldest  Christian  music 
—  the  Ambrosian  and  Gregorian  chants  —  has  come  to  us  from 
Greece  or  Palestine.  If,  as  is  commonly  believed,  these  chants 
are  indeed  the  same  as  those  once  used   in    Solomon's  temple, 

I   In  the  Santa  Barbara  Kxprrss. 


ANTIGONE  59 

there  must  have  been  a  striking  resemblance  between  them  and 
the  music  of  Greece,  when  early  Christian  musicians  could  apply 
to  them  the  very  names  of  the  Greek  modes.  In  this  case,  who 
will  dare  to  say  that  it  is  out  of  place  for  a  Jewish  musician  to 
compose  music  for  a  Greek  play  ? 

One  word  more.     The  writer  has  recently  witnessed  in  Rome 
M.   Mounet- Sully's  representation  of  the  Gldipus  Tyranmis,  as 
given  at  the  Comedie-Francaise  in  Paris.     It  was 
undoubtedly  brilliant  in  some  respects,  but  I  am       '^""^ '  "  y  -^ 
convinced  that  the  remark  made  by  a  cultivated  '^ 

spectator  was  just,  viz.,  that  from  such  a  performance  one  can 
learn  much  better  what  to  avoid  than  what  to  imitate  in  present- 
ing a  Greek  play.  This  is  especially  true  of  the  lyrical  element. 
In  the  French  version  the  chorus  practically  disappears ;  the 
grand  odes,  which  express  the  collective  emotion  of  a  dramatic 
group  of  elders,  are  ruined  by  being  delivered  in  weak  melo- 
drama by  a  single  female  voice;  recitative  and  vocal  melody  are 
abandoned,  and  the  result  is  a  succession  of  dramatic  scenes, 
which,  with  their  long  speeches,  tend  to  become  exceedingly 
monotonous,  being  unrelieved  by  the  lyric  color,  movement,  and 
variety  of  tone,  which  the  Greeks  considered  essential  to  a  great 
tragedy.  H.   Rushton  Fairclough. 


Assembly  Hall,  Stanford  University 
Thursday,  April  Seventeenth,  Nineteen 
Hundred  and  Two,  at  Eight  P.  M.,  and 
Saturday,  April  Nineteenth,  at  Eleven  A.  M. 


TWO   PRESENTATIONS  OF 

THE    ANTIGONE 
OF    SOPHOCLES 

IN   THE   ORIGINAL   GREEK 

WITH    MENDELSSOHN'S    MUSIC 


BY  MEMBERS  OF  THE  FACULTY  AND 
STUDENTS  OF  LELAND  STANFORD 
JUNIOR  UNIVERSITY  UNDER  THE  AUS- 
PICES OF  THE  DEPARTMENT  OF  GREEK 


68 


ANTIGONE 


THE    CAST 


Antigone 

IsMENE,  her  sister 

Chorus  of  Theban  Elders, 

under  the  Coryphteus 
Creon,  the  Kitijr 
Guard  .         .         .         - 

H^:mon,  son  of  Creon 
Tiresias,  a  seer   -         -         - 
Messenger 

EuRYDiCE,  the  Queen    - 
Second  Messenger 

Attendants  to  the  Queen 
Attendants  to  the  King 


Extra  Attendants 


Boy,  attending  Tiresias 


Miss  E.  Cooksey 
Miss  E.  Crandall 

Professor  H.  R.  Fairclough 

Professor  A.  T.  Murray 

Mr.  J.  K.  Bonneil 

Mr.  R.  V.  Reppy 

Professor  S.  S.  Seward,  Jr. 

Mr.  K.  Rees 

Mrs.  J.  P.  Hall 

Mr.  C.  W.  Thomas,  Jr. 

Miss  I.  Richards 

Miss  G.  M.  Smith 

j  Mr.  R.  Bryan 

(  Mr.  R.  A.  Hamilton 

C        Mr.  H.  A.  Moran 

)  xMr.  J.  J.  Ryan 

\       Mr.  J.  McCaughern 

(  Mr.  J.  S.  King 

Robert  Lindley  Murray 


■I 


The  Chorus  is  made  up  of  the  Coryphaeus  and  fourteen  of  the  fol- 
lowing:  Messrs.  O.  H.  Clarke,  J.  E.  Cline,  B.  R.  Cocks,  C.  E.  Ellis, 
E.  C.  Eppley,  E.  I.  Frisselle,  S.  P.  Frisselle,  H.  Gay,  E.  O.  James, 
O.  Kehrlein,  H.  R.  Mockridge,  H.  L.  Morrison,  B.  P.  Oakford,  A.  Per- 
rin,  H.  M.  Shipley,  VV.  J.  Stack,  E.  Talbot,  R.  E.  VVarfield. 

The  music  has  been  adapted  to  the  Greek  by  Professor  H.  R.  Fair- 
clough. 

Prompter,  Miss  A.  F.  Weaver. 

Musical  Director,  Mr.  A.  L.  Scott  Brook. 

Stage  Manager,  Mr.  Leo  Cooper. 

The  scene  is  laid  in  Thebes,  before  the  royal  palace. 


In  order  that  the  continuity  of  the  play  may  not  be  interrupted,  it  will  be  impossible  for 
others  than  the  chorus  to  respond  to  encores. 


ANTIGONE  69 


THE    STORY 

CEdipus,  though  unwittingly,  had  fulfilled  the  doom  which  the  oracle  declared  should  be 
his :  he  had  slain  with  his  owai  hand  his  father,  Laius,  and  had  become  the  husband  of  his 
mother,  Jocasta.  When  the  horrible  truth  tecame  known,  Jocasta  hanged  herself  and 
CEdipus  dashed  out  his  eyes  with  the  brooch  of  her  robe. 

The  two  sons  of  the  ill-fated  pair  fell  in  deadly  combat,—  the  younger,  Eteocles,  seeking 
to  hold  the  Theban  throne  against  his  brother,  Polynices,  who  had  come  with  an  alien  host 
from  Argos  to  claim  his  rights. 

Creon,  the  uncle  of  the  two  youths,  has  become  king,  and  has  declared  that  the  corpse 
of  Polynices  shall  be  left  unburied,  to  be  rent  of  dogs  and  birds.  To  this  edict  the  citizens 
submit,  and  with  them  Ismene,  one  of  the  two  sisters,  upon  whom,  as  next  of  kin,  the  duty  of 
paying  burial  rites  to  the  fallen  chiefly  rested.  The  other  sister,  Antigone,  in  defiance  of  the 
edict,  gives  burial  to  her  brother,  and,  sister's  child  to  the  king  though  she  is,  and  betrothed 
to  his  son  Hsemon,  is  herself  condemned  to  be  buried  alive  in  a  rocky  vault,  where  she  takes 
her  life. 

Haemon  slays  himself  in  anguish  by  the  side  of  his  betrothed,  and,  learning  of  this, 
Eurydice,  the  wife  of  Creon,  takes  her  life;  so  that  woe  upon  woe  Is  heaped  on  the  head  of 
the  unhappy  king. 

S  U  M  M  A  R  Y    O  F    T  H  E    D  R  A  .M  A 

Antigone  announces  to  Ismene  her  intention  to  perform  the  rites  of  burial  over  Polynicc-s. 
First  choral  song  —  The  Glorious  Victory. 

(a)  Creon's  speech. 

(b)  Guard  brings  news  that  the  corpse  has  been  buried. 

Second  choral  song —  Man's  Audacity. 

(a)  .Antigone  led  before  Creon. 

(d)  Guard's  story  of  the  arrest. 

(c)  Antigone  pleads  guilty.     Her  noble  defense. 
{(f)  Isniene's  devotion.     Her  appeal  to  Creon. 

(e)  Creon,  In  anger,  orders  both  to  be  kept  in  restraint. 

Third  choral  song  —  A  House  Accursed.      Omnipotence  of  Zeus;  Im- 
potence of  Man. 

(a)     Haemon  pleads  vainly  with  Creon. 

(6)    Creon  atmounces  Antigone's  terrible  punishment. 

Fourth  choral  song  —  Love's  Power. 

{a)    Antigone's  lament.    Chorus  is  moved  to  sympathy. 
(6)    Antigone  led  to  her  fate. 

Fiftli  choral  song  —  Like  Fates  of  Danae,  Lycurgus  and  Cleopatra. 

(a)    Tiresias  warns  Creon ;  and,  when  angered,  aimounces  divine  vengeance. 
{6)    Creon  is  moved,  and,  urged  by  the  chorus,  seeks  to  undo  his  deeds. 


70  ANTIGONE 

Sixth  Choral  song  —  Invocation  to  Bacchus. 

(a)  Messenger  announces  Htenion's  suicide. 

(d)  Eurydice's  entrance. 

(c)  Messenger's  tale :  Creon  lias  been  too  late. 

(rf)  Eur>'dice  silently  withdraws. 

{e)  Creon  enters,  with  Hfeinon's  lifeless  body. 

(/)  Creon's  lament. 

(g)  Chorus  marches  from  the  stage,  singing  of  the  fall  that  waits  upon  pride. 

SUPPLEMENTARY    CHORUS 

Prof.  F.  Angell,  Dr.  G.  B.  Little.  Messrs.  E.  L.  Anderson,  H.  H. 
Atkinson,  C.  H.  Baker,  B.  M.  Breeden,  C.  E.  Burton,  H.  E.  Bush,  Geo. 
H.  Clark,  O.  H.  Clarke,  T.  A.  Cutting,  G.  W.  Dryer,  L.  C.  Hawley, 
W.  R.  Hogan,  T.  G.  Hosmer,  G.  B.  Jeffers,  E.  A.  Jones,  G.  P.  Jones, 
J.  Josephson,  J.  S.  King,  A.  J.  Klamt,  T.  McCaughern,  J.  T.  McManis, 

B.  Nourse,  M.  Oppenheim,  R.  N.  Park,  W.  D.  Patterson,  J.  G.  Perkins, 
R.  L.  Pleak,  N.  C.  Powers,  E.  L.  Rea,  V.  L.  Talbert,  J.  C.  Taylor,  F.  B. 
Tucker,  E.  Wakeman,  H.  A.  VVeihe,  F.  T.  Whitaker,  W.  T.  VVhitaker. 

THE    ORCHESTRA 

((ienerously  put  at  the  disposal  of  the  Musical  Director  by  its  leader.  Professor  S.  W. 
Young. ) 

First  Violin:  Messrs.  G.  A.  Scoville,  R.  H.  Bacon,  Miss  G.  H. 
Bruckman,  Messrs.  A.  J.  Copp,  C.  E.  Waite,  E.  V.  Kehrlein,  W.  H. 
Shadburne,  J.  J.  Wertheimer.  Second  Violin  :  Misses  A.  Pearson,  C.  Still- 
man,  K.  R.  Kipp,  Mr.  C.  C.  James,  Miss  J.  Henry,  Messrs.  V.  E.  Brackett, 
V.  E.  Stork,  E.  Williams.  Viola:  Messrs.  H.  W.  Fowler,  L.  G.  Levy. 
Cello:  Mr.  J.  Hague.  Bass:  Mr.  D.  P.  Campbell.  F"lute :  Professor  B. 
E.  Howard.  Clarinet:  Messrs.  R.  U.  Fitting,  VV.  C.  Piatt.  Comet: 
Mr.  A.  E.  Lee,  Prof.  C.  B.  Whittier,  Mr.  F.  Roller.  French  Horn: 
Messrs.  E.  A.  Martin,  G.  E.  Lucas,  C.  Hatton.    Trombone,    Messrs.  B. 

C.  Bubb,  C.  A.  Fitzgerald.  Tympani :  Mr.  A.  S.  Halley.  Piano:  Miss 
E.  R.  Gossett. 


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NOV  151 


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A     000  135  055     2 


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Sou 

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